


Tightly Knit

by beautifulterriblequeen



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Assassin Training, Cute, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Moonshadow assassins - Freeform, Moonshadows gonna Moonshadow, Runaan is gay okay, Sweet, Training Montage, Young Rayla, broken arm, guardian Runaan, secretive Moonshadows, secretive Runaan, soft Runaan, uncle Runaan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 05:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18934606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulterriblequeen/pseuds/beautifulterriblequeen
Summary: “You always catch me,” she’d say.“That’s my job,” he’d always reply.Until the morning came when he couldn’t.





	Tightly Knit

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Runaan's birthday, May 17. Happy birthday, Runaan!

 

The spring morning’s light cast its rays through the intricately carved curls in the wooden dome over the Moonshadow training arena, patterning the pale dirt with curlicue shadows beneath the whitewashed dome’s interior. Runaan had been running training patterns with his fellow assassins since dawn. When a pair of violet eyes peeked through the lowest carved curl in the dome twenty feet up, their young owner spotted him taking a rare break to discuss with them instead.

Runaan felt the weight of her gaze—and heard the soft sound of her little knees thumping against the wooden dome—but he pretended not to notice. Rayla loved to believe she could sneak up on him, and he found her attempts endearing. Though the children in the campus crèche visited the training arena twice a day to exercise and watch the adults train, Rayla still felt the need to escape and clamber up the dome’s exterior wall. But Runaan had been no less adventurous as a child, and he secretly delighted in Rayla’s determination to stalk him. She had a strong will like few he’d ever seen.

With Rayla’s parents on long-term Dragon Guard duty at the lair of the Dragon King, Runaan had been entrusted with her care, and he took that duty as seriously as everything else in his life. At the end of each day, he would collect her from the crèche, and she’d take his hand to walk home and immediately demand to know what he’d done that day. As they ate supper together in his quarters, she’d dance around waving her carrot-stick dagger, or deliberately drink her moonberry juice messily so she could show him a mouth full of bright red teeth. She’d launch herself at him from every available surface, always trusting him to catch her.

And he always did, with a laugh and a spin, before setting her safely down.

“You always catch me,” she’d say.

“That’s my job,” he’d always reply.

Until the morning came when he couldn’t.

“Let’s run secondary attacks again,” he said to his small cohort of trainees, “and then we’ll—”

“Runaan, watch this!” Rayla’s high little voice carried across the arena from a dozen paces away.

Runaan knew that crowing tone. His side tails fluttered as he jerked his head in time to see Rayla launch herself toward one of the horizontal training bars. She’d managed to squeeze through a curlicue in the carved wood and had flung her body at full stretch into midair.

Time slowed as Runaan’s heart rate skyrocketed. The assassin instinctively gauged Rayla’s trajectory. She would, in fact, reach the twenty-foot-high bar. But it was going to be close, and the bar’s diameter was made for fully grown hands, not Rayla’s.

She was going to lose her grip.

His throat constricted around her name. If he called out now, she might flinch, lose focus, miss the bar entirely. But every muscle in Runaan’s body tensed into action, and time caught up with him. “Call the healer.” His words targeted his fellow assassins, but his eyes remained locked on Rayla, and he darted toward the elfling before he’d finished speaking.

Rayla’s little hands clasped the bar. Her body wobbled, her legs flailed. Her weight pendulumed.

Her grip slipped.

Rayla tracked the ground with her eyes and tried to bring her feet around under her as she spun, but she landed badly. Runaan skidded to his knees beside her as she lay crumpled into a heap.

“Rayla.” He touched her shoulders and found them so tense that she could have been made of stone.

She was as Moonshadow as he was. She knew not to show her pain. But her body radiated it like the sun. She whimpered lightly. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, little shadow. I’m the one who’s sorry. I failed in my duty. I didn’t catch you.” He tried to help her sit up, but she only tucked herself harder around her left arm.

“D-didn’t want you to,” Rayla quavered. “You can’t catch me forever. I’m getting big.”

Runaan glanced up at the bar, eyed the gap between it and the edge of the filigree dome. _Not big enough._ “Let me see.”

“I’m okay.”

“You are not. You pinwheeled twenty feet down. You haven’t learned that move yet.”

“That’s a move?”

Runaan’s worries warred with his need for control. He held out his hands, indicating she should reach toward him for the standard injury tap test he’d taught her. “Show me you’re all right, and I’ll teach it to you.”

Slowly, Rayla sat up, her navy tunic dusted thickly with dirt the color of granite. She’d never hesitated to throw herself at him, reach for him, or toss whatever lay close to hand in his direction. But now, she did hesitate. She clutched her left arm against her chest. Runaan’s heart sank.

But bravely—foolishly—she mustered her courage and offered both of her arms toward him. Her right arm moved perfectly, though it was coated in dust. But her left had already begun to swell just above the wrist.

Runaan extended a single finger from each of his hands. He tapped one firmly against the top of Rayla’s right wrist. Her lips pressed firmly, but she kept her determined expression in place.

Then he raised his other finger over her broken wrist. And waited.

Rayla’s soft white brows twitched.

He raised his finger a little higher. _Don’t make me do it, little shadow._

Rayla’s determination gave way, and she turned her face away from him with a small grimace of anticipation, though she still held her wrist out. It was as close to surrender as she was going to get.

A fresh wave of guilt washed through Runaan. His finger curled back into his fist. “Oh, Rayla.”

Instead of completing the test, Runaan scooped her into his arms and strode across the workout arena. Anghas, in his white robes, was just entering the arena from the practicum wing and hurried toward them.

Runaan bypassed the healer, heading straight inside, and Anghas fluttered along at his elbow. “What happened?”

“She broke her arm in a fall.” Runaan kept his eyes straight ahead, but Rayla helpfully raised her injured limb so Anghas could see it.

“Tap test?” Anghas inquired, his gaze on Rayla’s swelling arm.

Runaan blew inside the practicum wing and headed for the healer’s rooms at the center at full stride, his long ponytail fluttering in his wake. “Results were conclusive.”

Rayla glanced up at him through damp lashes, but she kept silent. She knew he hadn’t completed the test as was required. Focused on getting her treated, he let her draw her own conclusions.

Runaan claimed the first of Anghas’s empty workrooms and set Rayla on the study table for Anghas to examine. The healer took Rayla’s arm in his gentle fingers, and Runaan stepped back to catch his breath.

He couldn’t seem to do it, though. His chest had gone tight.

He gave Rayla an encouraging nod and stepped outside for a moment, then slipped inside the next empty room. He leaned his forehead and his fingertips against the wall and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. The silver hair cuffs in his side tails tapped against the wall once and hung still.

He’d been so _close_ to catching her. And he’d missed. His shaky breath hissed against the wall and echoed loudly in his ears, full of accusatory guilt.

 _Get it together, Quirk._ His mother’s voice in his mind, his childhood nickname in that exasperated voice she always used. She had always picked him up, dusted him off, and put him back together. He’d never thought about how his hurts might have caused her pain, too. Perhaps she had been talking to herself as well as to him.

He nodded to himself, feeling his forehead rock against the wall. Remembered his mother dusting off the spiral twist in his horns with a gentle swoop of her fingers. Her encouraging smile.

_Get it together, Quirk._

With a deep, steadying breath, Runaan pushed himself back from the wall and into perfect balance. He lifted his chin and headed back into Rayla’s room. This time, he stood behind her, resting a comforting hand on her good shoulder, and felt her relax under his touch.

Anghas gave Rayla a little cup of thick, spicy severcane juice for the pain. Then the Moon mage crafted a solid illusion of sturdy material to hold Rayla’s arm in place while it healed. The white tracery of the brace’s openwork pattern displayed the healer’s gift with art as well as medicine. Rayla held her braced arm up with her good hand and told Runaan, “The swirls remind me of your hair cuffs.”

“It’s very pretty,” he told her. He gave Anghas a short nod that said _Well done_.

Anghas sent them home with a packet of herbs and a pouch of moonberries, as well as instructions that Rayla was not to spend her days at the crèche for a couple of weeks, lest she re-injure herself playing. “Rest and relaxation is what you need,” Anghas told her. “Your bone will knit and be stronger than ever. But it needs time.”

Runaan nodded, forming a plan, but Rayla’s little shoulders slumped.

Anghas told Rayla as she left, “You were very brave.”

That put a big smile back on her face. Runaan squatted down and took her good hand as she cradled her broken arm against her chest in a soft purple sling. Those big violet eyes locked onto his, still so trusting despite his failure. “The bravest Moonshadow ever. I should carry you home on my shoulders so everyone can see your daring fearlessness.”

Rayla looked down at her broken arm with a proud smile, but she got distracted by the state of her tunic. She reached toward the thick dust that still coated her, but Runaan’s hand shot out and clasped her wrist, not wanting her to jostle her broken arm.

“Leave the dust, little shadow. It proves you fought well today.”

“Okay, Runaan.”

With a smile, Runaan swiped a smudge of dust from the tip of her nose and swept her up onto his shoulders. He ambled toward the barracks, but he did so by way of Mayr’s quarters.

The suspended assassin answered her door with a dark look and a sardonic tip of her horns, but she straightened up when she saw Runaan, smoothing the frown that wrinkled the delicate blue crescent on her forehead and brushing her long white hair back off her shoulders. It hadn’t been his fault that her name had been taken off the mission rolls.

Her gray eyes studied Rayla and her injury before drifting to Runaan’s face. “Aye, Runaan?” Her low brogue lilted with undimmed sass as she leaned against her door frame.

“I have a task for you, Mayr. Come to my quarters for breakfast in the morning. Plan to stay for a while.”

Mayr flicked her gaze up and down Runaan’s tall figure, and a smile finally teased her lips. “Well, that’ll set them talking.”

He couldn’t help the half-smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Then they haven’t been paying attention. Rayla needs supervision.”

Mayr studied the elfling on his shoulders, not unkindly. “And what do I need?” she bargained.

Runaan lifted his chin. “You need me to talk to the Justice Council for you about those horn chains.”

At that, Mayr’s pale brows lifted. Her choice of “noisy” personal adornment had been the cause of her suspension when she’d refused to take them off. They weren’t on the approved dress code list, and Moonshadows loved rules. But if Runaan spoke for her to the Justice Council— _if_ he said the right words—she wouldn’t need to give up her decorative chains. A true smile crossed her lips. “Then I’ll see you for breakfast.” Her eyes danced up to Rayla’s. “Well fought, Rayla.”

Runaan felt Rayla sit up straighter at the female assassin’s regard. Mayr closed her door, and Runaan carried Rayla back to the quarters they shared, where he settled her in on her favorite big poofy purple cushion by the big window that looked out onto the communal gardens. She nibbled at Anghas’s moonberries while Runaan began to read her an adventure story, but she dozed off soon from the effects of the severcane, and her violet eyes slid shut.

Runaan closed the book softly and studied her sleeping features. That strong little chin, so like her mother’s. Her father’s brows and cheeks. The blue marks that swooped beneath her eyes made her skin seem even paler as she lay nestled in the fluffy cushion, and her body had finally relaxed into childlike softness.

 _You’re not hard enough yet, Rayla._ An idea occurred to him. He dropped a tiny kiss on her forehead and covered her with a blanket. With pen and paper in hand, Runaan seated himself on the floor next to her and began to sketch out his plan.

Mayr showed up the next morning right on time, bearing mangoes and apples. The three of them broke their fast together, and throughout their quiet conversation, Runaan never once heard her horn chains rattle. He gave Rayla a short list of instructions to follow while he was at the arena—no acrobatics, stay indoors, rest if you’re tired, listen to Mayr _and also obey her_ —and caught Mayr’s eye as he headed out the door. She gave him a crisp nod and turned back to Rayla.

Runaan studied her horn chains from the back for a moment. Delicate links swooped between a narrow cuff and a horntip cap in soft silver arcs. They were lovely. And not forthcoming with Mayr’s secrets. With a thoughtful frown, he left Rayla in her capable hands for the day.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about his little charge as the day wore on. Every time he caught sight of that twenty-foot bar, he saw Rayla’s tumbling fall again, heard her crash to the ground right at his feet. He couldn’t undo the past. But he did have a plan to guard the future.

By lunchtime, he knew it wasn’t enough. He grabbed a couple of oranges and slipped out of the training campus, hoping to check on Rayla without disturbing her—or giving away the depth of his concern. Overt feelings were for Sunfires. He spotted a pretty purple flower, a shooting star, and picked it for her as he passed through the gardens that bordered the back of the assassins’ barracks.

At the window to the main room in his quarters, he looked in and spotted Rayla, asleep again on her the big cushion, her limbs lax in utter relaxation. He twirled the flower in his fingers for a moment, then reached in and rested it on the sill for her.

Mayr entered quietly just then, carrying a tray for Rayla’s lunch. He glanced up at her, and she paused. Then she smiled reassuringly and gave him a short nod. With a deep breath, Runaan pushed way from the window sill, nodded back at her, and returned to the training arena.

When he finished for the day and got home, tired, sweaty, and in need of a brush for his long, tousled hair, Rayla was wearing the shooting star behind one ear and a giant smile across her face. Runaan let his eyes rest on it for a moment so she knew that he’d noticed, and her smile widened further.

“You don’t have to stay tonight,” Runaan told Mayr.

But the suspended assassin was busy chopping ingredients for a massive salad. “Don’t take that tone with me, Runaan. I agreed to stay, and I will. Besides, I stalked the markets today. There’s no going back now.” She waved her knife at a variety of produce that clustered on a nearby kitchen counter.

“Apparently not, no.” Runaan cleaned up and redid his hair, and the three of them enjoyed another meal together. Then Runaan cast his eyes out at the gardens. Let himself be seen studying them.

Of course Mayr noticed. “What is it, then,” she said in an expectant tone.

He flicked his turquoise gaze to her. “How are your carpentry skills?”

Mayr raised her white brows speculatively.

An hour later, the two of them knelt in a small clearing in the gardens, hammering wooden beams together and burying their supports deep into the dirt while Rayla looked on in interest, holding her purple sling against her chest.

“What’s it for, Runaan?” she finally asked, seemingly unable to fathom why the two assassins would suddenly decide to build a series of horizontal beams at various heights radiating around a small patch of grass in the middle of the gardens.

Runaan hammered the last nail in place and stood, wiping his brow with the back of his wrist. He held out a hand for her good one. “Come and see.”

Mayr stood back with smiling anticipation as Rayla took Runaan’s big hand. He led her to the lowest beam, mere inches off the grass and half as wide as her foot. With a leading pull, he urged her to step up at one end. Then he folded her good arm atop her broken one, steadied her shoulders from behind, and gave her a tiny push forward.

Obediently, Rayla balanced her way down the beam. Near the end, though, she wobbled, tried to stay on, and failed, slipping off the beam with a small growl of frustration. Her violet eyes shot to Runaan, and she said what she heard Runaan say a dozen times a day in the arena. “Again.”

She hopped right back on, facing Runaan this time. Her balance flickered halfway along, and she threw out her right arm to balance with. Runaan shook his head and gestured for her to tuck it back atop her chest. With a glower, Rayla did so. And promptly wobbled off the narrow beam again. “Moon and Shadow!” she swore, shooting Runaan an impatient look. “Why can’t I walk on this stupid thing?”

A smile tugged at Runaan’s mouth as he admired Rayla’s determination. He gave Mayr a soft side nod, tipping his horns back toward his quarters, and she flicked an eyebrow back at him before heading inside. Turning his attention back to his small charge, Runaan said, “You rely too much on your arms. Bend your knees, use your legs. Feel your balance here.” He tapped her tunic just over her belly button. “If you can balance with your legs, you can use your arms for other things.”

Rayla put one foot back up on the beam before Runaan’s words sank in. Her eyes widened as she finally realized what he was up to. She turned and took in the variety of balance beams, the circle they formed, and whipped her little head back to face Runaan. “You made me my own training beams? So I can train like you do? So I can hop around with swords in my hands? Runaan!”

Her glee overwhelmed her pain, and she launched herself at him. Alarm flared in his chest for a split-second, but his instincts kicked in, and he caught her softly, spinning to absorb her momentum.

Despite his soft catch, she still jostled her broken arm a little. “Oof. Ouch. Thank you. I love it. Best gift ever. I’ll use it every day. I promise.”

He hefted her up higher in his arms and smiled. “Moonshadows never promise lightly. I expect you to hold to your word. And I’m not letting you train without me.”

A sassy smile overtook her features, and she lifted her chin. “Does that mean I’m the boss?”

He chuckled and set her down. “The day you stop asking if you’re in charge is the day you’re actually in charge, little shadow. Now. Up on that beam again.”

Runaan kept Rayla on the lowest beam, but he let her begin to sidestep, skip, and hop as much as she was able. She held her broken arm close and focused so intently that Runaan had to tell her to get off when the sun set. She fell asleep on his shoulder as he carried her inside.

Mayr handed him a bowl of cubed spiceroot when he returned from tucking her in. “Wore her out, did ya?” She tipped her horns with a smile, and her horn chains swayed silently.

His eyes studied the chains. He’d nearly sussed out her secret, but he replied on topic. “It’ll be harder to wear her out as she heals up, but I’ll do my best. Let her train with you as much as she likes during the day. I’ll work with her every evening. She’ll sleep soundly at night.”

Mayr stole one of his vegetable cubes and popped it in her mouth. “You’re a fine Moonshadow, Runaan.”

His turquoise eyes studied her face, and their corners crinkled just a little. Perhaps she did see everything he was really doing. For her, for Rayla. For himself. But as long as she helped him, it didn’t really matter. _We are Moonshadow._ “As are you.”

Her gray gaze danced across his features, and she offered him a subtle chin lift of approval. “You’ll make some handsome elf very happy someday.”

Now a real smile crossed his face. “So will you.” The tiniest flare of her pupils filled in the last blank for Runaan, but he kept her secret to himself. “See you at breakfast.”

The bright days of spring grew a little longer. The Moon spun across the velvet sky each night, and the evenings warmed. Runaan left something pretty on the sill for Rayla every day—a shiny chestnut, an agate, a blue river stone, once a sprightly moonfrog in a box—and plenty of bright, beautiful flowers. He kept his mind on his work while he trained, even when the children in the crèche came out to watch the assassins at their practice. But the moment he was finished for the day, he turned toward home, declining all offers of drinks and camaraderie.

Mayr kept Rayla occupied during the day, sometimes on the lowest training beams, but often with entertaining studies. History, legends, dynamic physics experiments—aka shoving things off the edge of the table to study how they fell—and guessing games all kept Rayla’s mind as engaged as her little legs. But when Runaan came home each evening, Rayla inhaled her supper and began tugging at his hand to take her out to the gardens and train.

And train they did. As her arm began to mend and her legs grew stronger and steadier, Rayla followed Runaan’s direction to higher and higher beams, leaping and landing, trying to perch perfectly without a single wobble. Runaan called orders and pointed to her targets for her, and he followed her as if he were her own shadow. She slipped dozens of times. But he was always there to steady or catch her. After two weeks, Rayla’s arm was knitting together well, and her balancing skills had markedly improved, so Runaan surprised her with a new pair of slip-proof, knee-high boots. He and Mayr added rounded tops to some of the beams to simulate tree branches. Runaan could barely keep up with his little shadow after that.

The evening before Rayla was scheduled to return to the crèche, Runaan sat up late, carving a leftover piece of the balance beams into a small wooden figure for Rayla to use in future physics experiments. He was so focused on getting his own long ponytail carved right that he didn’t notice Mayr until she tugged on his actual hair, startling him.

He covered his tiny flinch by holding up the figurine. “What do you think?”

She leaned in to examine it, then she looked him in the eye. “’Tis a bit obvious, aye?”

He briefly raised an eyebrow. “Sometimes the illusion is best served by mirroring reality closely.”

“Best served for whom?” she asked softly.

 _Ah_. Runaan studied the little archer in his fingers. “You’ve seen her. She has true talent.”

“Amazing how you saw that _all along_ , isn’t it?” Mayr’s voice held a heavy dollop of sass.

“It shouldn’t be. I’m her guardian.” Before Mayr could prod further at his motives, Runaan played his trump card. “I’ll be speaking to the Justice Council tomorrow.”

“And you’ll tell them what?” Mayr dipped her horns to the side, making her illegal chains sway. Silently.

Runaan didn’t let them distract him as he held her gaze. “The truth.”

Her eyes widened in alarm, and he knew he’d been right about her.

He smiled reassuringly. “The only truth that matters, that is.”

Mayr took a deep breath as if to steady herself. “Which truth matters to you today, Runaan?”

The assassin looked down again at the small wooden figurine of himself.

Rayla was healing from her injury. She was learning strength and skill. He couldn’t be there to catch her every time, so he’d begun training her to catch herself. Training her to rely on him less. To need him less.

Mayr refused to give up those chains on her horns because they had been a gift from someone precious to her—someone an assassin was forbidden to share a life with. And they made no noise because they were only illusions. There was only one elf on the campus who had an artistic bent and enough mage skills to craft illusory horn jewelry: Anghas. Mayr was risking her career for love.

Runaan had offered her a bargain: help take care of Rayla while she recovered, in exchange for his word in her defense. He’d never said what that word would be, but now he could be certain: Anghas had crafted silent chains for Mayr not only as a sign of his affection, but to keep her safe.

The wooden figurine in his hand represented something similar between Runaan and Rayla.  He folded his long fingers around it tightly and met Mayr’s gray eyes.

“This truth, Mayr.” He tipped his horns, and his voice dropped. “You snuck up on me.”

His fellow assassin beamed.

Runaan scheduled a meeting with the Justice Council the next morning, where he thoroughly enjoyed pointing out that Mayr’s skill had enabled her to surprise him. With his own testimony, there was no need to complicate the matter by mentioning that the assassins’ dress code never addressed silent illusions, so Anghas’s name never needed to come up. The Council knew Runaan to be one of the most perceptive assassins they had. If he said Mayr could stalk him, chains or not, she deserved to be reinstated.

The Council pronounced their decision. Runaan left their chambers with a smile of triumph and stopped Mayr in the middle of campus as she was bringing Rayla to the crèche for her first day back.

Rayla looked up at his serious expression. “What’s wrong, Runaan?”

He kept his eyes on Mayr. “ _Someone’s_ out of uniform. I’ll take Rayla. You report to the arena in ten minutes. If you’re late by even a second—”

But Mayr flashed past him, wearing the biggest smile he’d ever seen on her, before he could finish his teasing threat. She pressed a hand against his arm and breathed a “Thank you” and then she was dashing toward the changing rooms.

Rayla worked her little hand into his gloved one. “That was very nice of you. You’re a good friend.”

Runaan walked with her toward the children’s rooms. “I didn’t do it for her.”

To his surprise, Rayla sassed back, “You kinda did.”

He looked down at her with a soft smile. “I didn’t do it _only_ for her.”

“That’s even better. You’re a good Moonshadow, Runaan. The best Moonshadow I know.”

At the sight of Rayla’s upturned, smiling face, the last jagged corner of Runaan’s hard heart melted.

Rayla rejoined the crèche and eagerly came out to watch the assassins train again. Runaan made sure to walk over and chat with her every time. He asked her opinion on his technique, and she took him very seriously, offering her best critiques. The other children began to look to Rayla as a guide.

When Anghas declared her broken bone knitted entirely, Runaan gave her a bow and training swords—two matching swords, as all Moonshadows practiced with—and let her train as hard as she liked. And she trained _hard_. The summer passed, and winter spun by, and Rayla kept training. She grew like a weed. Her sass was the only thing that could keep pace with her hunger to learn. And Runaan indulged her every opportunity for both. They trained in the arena after hours. In the garden when it rained. In the forest when it snowed.

The next spring, Rayla stood a few inches taller and sported a leaner look, and the way she carried herself was nearly unrecognizable from the year before. Her confidence entered every room five steps before she did, and few secrets hid from her bright violet gaze.

One day, Runaan entered the training arena after lunch to find Rayla clinging to the lower edge of the wood filigree dome from the exact spot where she’d leaped the year before. He stopped, heart hammering in his chest.

The arena was full. Other assassins milled about, casting curious glances at Rayla, and now at Runaan, too. Even the crèche had gathered, ready to observe an afternoon session.

_Get it together, Quirk._

The tall assassin took a deep breath and studied Rayla for a moment. She was still short, and that twenty-foot bar was still big for her hands. But she’d practiced on it for months. He’d taught her several dismounts, and she could land them all. She’d never tried to leap from the edge of the dome again, but he knew what she knew: she could do it.

Their eyes met.

Runaan held her gaze and strode out in front of the bar, silently marking her landing spot for her. He lifted his chin and gave her a sharp nod. She had trusted him for the past year. Now it was his turn to trust her. She had earned it.

Her grin was brilliant as she launched herself toward the bar between them. Those powerful little legs gave her all the momentum she needed. Her strong hands grasped the bar, and she swung herself around it easily. Then, under her own power, she let go, twirling through a series of show-off flips. Light as a leaf settling on the forest floor, Rayla dropped into a three-point landing right in front of Runaan.

Though he kept a straight face, his heart soared. She stood up, eyes gleaming with confidence. The children started hollering their amazement and appreciation. Several of the assassins nodded and smiled in congratulations, as well.

Runaan had eyes only for his little shadow, though. He had taught her how not to need him, and in the process, his heart had become tightly knit to hers. In true Moonshadow fashion, such a bond could never be undone.

He tucked his hands behind his back and smiled. “Well done, Rayla.”


End file.
